BY A. S. PEASE.
Dear Santa Claus, so near-so far,
Please pause and tell us who you are,
We know your name, but cannot tell
From whence you come, or where you dwell,
Nor how you look, nor yet your age,
Nor why in good deeds you engage.
I'm older, you may safely say,
Much older than Methuselah.
The King of Salem, as appears,
Was sovereign for unmentioned years.
His reign had end as "King of Peace,"
My reign of Love shall never cease.
And then you question who I am?
I am no woman, child nor man.
To tell you just the very truth,
My age is never ceasing youth.
Some think me old and worn and gray;
"Old Santa Claus," the children say,
But still of me they have no fears.
If ever children shed sad tears,
It is when "Santa" does not come
With Christmas presents to their home.
Just who I am I may not tell;
Some time the world shall know me well,
And know my kindred, two; we three—
Love, Joy and Peace—we brothers be,
We three are one; there is no other,
And of the three I'm elder brother.
From whence I come you wish to know?
I come in morn and evening glow;
I come in every breeze that blows;
I come in bleak December snows;
I come in summer, fall and spring;
I come with all the birds that sing;
I come, when fields and woods are drear,
With Christmas cheer to close the year.
You wish to know, too, where I dwell?
You, better than myself, can tell.
Ask of your heart; if anywhere
You search to find me, find me there.
I am as subtle as a thought;
I can't be seen, I may be caught;
I am not here, I am not there,
I'm there, and here, and everywhere.
I'm in the dark, I'm in the light;
The shadows that I cast are bright,
Wherever a heart is lift from care
It is because I was-am-there.
My bosom thrills with ecstasy
When loving hearts respond to me.
You certainly should know me now, because
I've told you who I am—I'm Santa Claus.
And now, dear Times, from your prolific press
Please publish to the world my Holiday Address.
Love is the passion of the heart's delight;
Love sprinkles stars broad-scattered o'er the night
Of life's lone watches, when the spirits droop
And virtue shudders with the world to cope;
And wins for Heaven by its pleasing spell
Mortals whose sins tempt the soul to Hell.
The world wants love. So long have war and hate
Ruled in society and court and state;
So long have discord, strife and malice
Accursed the humble cot and princely palace,
That over all the world hearts crushed and bleeding
For love, sweet love, are sighing, longing, pleading.
From many homes comes oft to me the sigh,
The plaintive moaning and the smothered cry
Of starved affection. How the heart would bleed
Could it not satisfy the pressing need
Of children famishing for want of bread,
And yet affection, crushed and starved and dead,
Excites small pity and receives less care.
Love saves the hearts of millions from despair,
Gives attitude to soul, gives high desire,
Gives thirst for knowledge; loving hearts admire
The works and wonders of All-Loving God;
Love educates the soul for courts by angels trod.
Troy Times. December 17, 1904: 7 col 2.